


This, You Protect

by Anonymous



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Found Family, Gen, Heartfelt, Hurt Han Jisung | Han, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Bang Chan, References to Sexual Harassment, The Woojin Situation(tm), chan protecting his boys, mentions of bullying, platonic/romantic is up to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 19:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30077070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: ‘Personal reasons’is what they settle for in the end (even though it leaves a bitter taste in Chan’s mouth as he remembers Jisung's bruised cheek) and a vow for Woojin to never step foot near any of them—Stray Kids or JYP—ever again.Chan had gone home after all of it, worn out and dead on his feet and held steady by Minho, to wrap his arms around his family. The boys he would give everything to protect. He lugged them into a messy hug and didn’t let go for a long time.Stray Kids mend and heal as eight, and through it all, Chan is there to protect his own.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Han Jisung/Hwang Hyunjin/Kim Seungmin/Lee Felix/Lee Minho/Seo Changbin/Yang Jeongin, OT8 - Relationship
Comments: 5
Kudos: 101
Collections: Anonymous





	This, You Protect

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are.
> 
> This fic has lived in my brain for months now. Ever since everything has come to light, my brain has been searching for explanation and in the wee hours of the morning, this is what it would give me.
> 
> As I'm sure you know, the circumstances under which Woojin left the group are unknown. I do not pretend to know what happened. This fic was merely born from my imagination and is, for all intents and purposes, fictional. 
> 
> The allegations against are not to be taken lightly, and his response to them was appalling. My heart goes out to everyone affected. While brief, this fic will make reference to **tw** sexual harassment as well as bullying, mainly verbal. Please proceed with care.
> 
> If you are a Woojin stan of any variety, please turn back now. To everyone else, please enjoy this brain child of mine.

Bang Chan had gotten used to being eight. 

Time had worn on and he’d gone through his denial, his anger, each stage of grief easier than the last. He had gotten used to the phrase ‘nine or none’ no longer ringing true and he’d made his peace with it all. _This too shall pass,_ he remembers Jisung whispering one night—when the shadows had seemed darker than normal and the weight of eyes on them too heavy. His little Jisungie, his first maknae, all grown up.

Time had worn on and Stray Kids had settled as eight, stronger than ever. He should have known better than to think the peace would last.

His mind falls back, however unwillingly, to _that day._ Chan doesn’t think that he’ll ever be able to forget it for as long as he lives.

_Him,_ someone Chan thought he could trust, maybe even look up to. He was the only one older than Chan on the team and Chan had thought—blindly, naively—that his age would have instilled the same sense of protectiveness, of leadership. Of _care._

What he hadn’t thought of, what he had never even imagined, was that he might use the seniority against the family which Chan had tried so hard to build for them all. In the span of a second, the image had come crumbling down. He’d stumbled upon their practice room, looking for something that he can’t even remember, and discovered something much worse.

The look on Jisung’s face had been heartbreaking. It cut deeper than the words that were being thrown from Woojin’s mouth: _so many lines, so many songs, don’t you feel selfish, Jisung? Taking up all this space. Even Felix with his terrible Korean deserves more than you, because you, Jisung, you’re nothing–_

And then there was that slap. The sound echoed out into the hallway and Chan lept forwards, throwing open the door just in time to catch Jisung’s head turned to the side, hand hovering over his rapidly reddening cheek.

Betrayal sliced through Chan so deep that it burned. How could he?

“Get out,” he remembers snarling. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at the older boy. Anger was slowly building up against the shock and all he could think of was Jisung, shoulders hunched down and lip trembling but resigned—resigned as if this was nothing new. Like it had happened before. Chan’s jaw clenched hard. 

He spotted Woojin’s figure in the mirrors, defiance set in his shoulders, and wanted to throw something. “Don’t you even think about stepping a foot near the dorms.” Chan was never going to let this man, _this boy_ who he had trusted, near his family ever again. “Get. Out.”

And if Chan didn’t already want to burn something already, the scoff that Woojin let out would have made him see red. He didn’t say anything more, merely turning on his heel and disappearing, and then it was just the two of them alone.

Guilt would come—anger against himself for not seeing this before, for choosing someone who was capable of hurting his family without second thought. But right now he sectioned it off for the future and focused on what was important. Focused on reaching out a tentative hand, palm up. Focused on removing the anger from his voice before he spoke, because he never wanted Jisung to think for a second that any of this was his fault. Poured every ounce of love he had for his family into his words. 

“Hannie,” he said softly. The boy’s shoulders shook. “Oh _Jisung-ah.”_

And like that the floodgates broke and he found himself with an armful of crying rapper, shaky and hurt—his cheek was going to bruise—but safe within Chan’s arms. _Safe._

Chan had smoothed a hand down the sobbing boy’s back and hushed all of his half-stuttered apologies. “Di–didn’t wan’ you to f–find out. Mayb–be he was right, y’know? Maybe I’was being selfish. Th–thought I could take it ‘cause it’s n–nine or none, right?” Chan’s heart was breaking in his chest as he listened. “And– with everything– This was your d–dream for us and I c–couldn’t live with myself if I–”

“Hush now, Hannie,” Chan whispered with tears gathering in his eyes. “It’s all going to be okay. Hyung promises that he’ll fix everything.” He started to rock them side to side, a flicker of relief running through him as he feels Jisung’s shoulders start to loosen. “Don’t you worry now, Hannie, hyung’s got you. No one can hurt you now.”

Chan had felt Jisung’s grip tighten on the front of his shirt and knew, as he had always known, that he would move heaven and earth to protect these boys. 

At the dorm it had all come to light, everything Chan had missed, everything that not just Jisung but Felix and Hyunjin had tried to hide away from him. The whole horrible picture came into frightening focus: Jeongin’s fidgeting whenever _he_ had come to close, the way Felix grew quiet whenever Woojin was in the room, reverting back to his trainee days when he was anxious over his broken Korean and choose silence over mistakes.

The numerous times Minho had placed himself between Woojin and one of the kids, a wordless barrier that Chan could see so clearly now. The barrier that Chan had chalked up to their different personalities; the two had never been the bestest of friends and now, with this horrifying awakening, Chan knew why. He vowed at that moment to never doubt Minho’s judgement of character.

So Chan had met with the company, adamant he go alone—he was never going to let any of the kids near Woojin again. He met their protests with a stubbornness that none of them could seem to rival but which they tried valiantly to argue against until he let Minho, at the very least, accompany him.

Chan had wanted Minho to stay. But Changbin had promised to watch over the kids, “I’ve got them, hyung, I promise”, and Chan couldn’t deny how steady he felt with Minho beside him.

The meetings with JYP had lasted two days, one to let all of it pour from him, fiery hot and burning in the pit of his stomach. All the injustices, the terrible things Woojin had done laid out on the table as the boy in question watched on in disdained boredom. Chan had wanted to punch a wall. Minho glare had held every shred of anger Chan possessed. 

The second had been for the legal jargon and heaps of paperwork. 

Woojin is leaving the group. Chan will settle for nothing less and not even Jinyoung-PD will be able to tell him elsewise. He doesn’t, thankfully. For all the media that circulates about Jinyoung—and the things that Chan has heard from BamBam and Jackson—he trusts in Chan’s team selection. He’s learnt to after everything he put them through with the survival show. He nods once, firm, when Chan tells him the decision. Woojin has to go.

And, surprisingly or not because Chan isn’t sure who Kim Woojin is anymore, Woojin himself doesn’t protest. He merely drags his eye across Minho and Chan, this look there than Chan has only recently learnt is a confidence that wields knives, and signs his contract termination.

Chan almost wishes that he said something. _Anything_ that would give Chan an excuse to truly lash out. A couple of days ago, he had woken up and viewed this man as a brother. A couple of days ago, he had looked up to him. Now Chan never wants to lay eyes on him again. 

The words still rattle through him—the anger that had laced his words as he called Jisung _selfish,_ when all the boy had ever wanted to do was his best, to give his all. The way he spoke of Felix’s Korean like the boy didn’t stay up late after the rest of them, practicing and practicing until his voice was gone. And the words that Chan hadn’t heard directly but which he’d been told about when he’d brought home a red-eyed and still slightly shaky Jisung, and told them all, point blank, that Woojin wasn’t a part of the group anymore.

He knows that the stories Hyunjin and Jeongin have told him probably don’t scrape the surface. Not when Seungmin is watching them all like that, eyes so full and the depth of his gaze so deep. Their tells and body language speaks louder than words and Chan knows.

Nine or none is ready to be retired. If Chan could go back and stamp it out of existence then he would. For now he focuses on what he can change. 

He’s adamant that the details aren’t going to get out. Chan wants Woojin to pay for what he’s done, he truly does. But he thinks of the backlash, the weight that releasing something like this carries. He thinks of Jeongin being questioned about it in interviews. Of Jisung, already nervous at fansigns, dealing with another thing on top of it all. Hyunjin who’d broken down in tears one night as people placed rumor upon rumor atop his head. Seungmin who kept the maknaes steady. 

None of them want that, even if they want justice. He’d asked them, wanted to make sure. Chan may have failed to protect them in the past but he was going to fix it now.

_‘Personal reasons’_ they settle for, even though it leaves a bitter taste in Chan’s mouth, and a vow for Woojin to never step foot near any of them—Stray Kids or JYP—ever again. 

Chan had gone home after all of it, worn out and dead on his feet and held steady by Minho, to wrap his arms around his family. The boys he would give everything to protect. He lugged them into a messy hug and didn’t let go for a long time. 

  


  


A couple of days later, Woojin had come to collect his stuff. Chan sent all of them out of the dorm, to practice, the store, cafes—anywhere but here. 

He’s become fiercely protective of their home ever since it all came to light and he’s not willing to tone it down yet. He wakes up during the night sporadically, shaken awake by his dreams, and tugs himself out of bed to check on them all. Sometimes they catch him at it and he gets pulled into a cuddle by Hyunjin and Felix, or forced back into bed by Changbin. They don’t say anything though, just let him hold them close. They understand.

So Woojin comes and collects his things when it’s just Chan home.

They don’t exchange greetings. If they did Chan might start yelling. He’s not sure what he’d do.

For a long moment there’s just the sounds of draws opening and zippers being pulled closed, as Chan stands in the doorway and watches Woojin pack his things.

“I’m not going to steal anything,” Woojin says at one point, with an eye roll that makes it feel like this is all one big joke to him.

Chan doesn’t move.

Woojin rolls his eyes again but goes back to packing.

Finally, the last shirt goes in and his bedside table is empty. It’s a relief. They’re at the front door when Woojin turns to him with a calculating look in his eyes. Something toys at the edges of his mouth.

“I wonder what the fans are going to say when it gets released.” His tone is conversational, airy, as if they were just having a regular conversation and like the whole past week had never happened.

“I don’t see why you would care.” He tries to keep the bite out of his voice—bitterness won’t do anything for him now—but he’s not entirely sure he succeeds.

“Some of them were my fans, you know? Their bias. I wonder how disappointed they will be. How angry.”

Chan is angry. Chan is disappointed. In Woojin, in himself, in his own judgement. He is also fed up. “Leave.” There’s no hiding the bite now.

Woojin scoffs, affronted. “Just like that? After all these years?”

Fingers dig into his palm and Chan’s clenches his fists tight. “You made your choice when you decided to hurt my family. That will never happen again.” They face off, here in the doorway of Chan’s home. When Woojin finally looks away, Chan gestures to the door. “It is time for you to leave. I will not ask again.”

Woojin seems to take the words as the challenge that they are. He walks out with not another word. Chan does not watch him go. He heads back into his home and waits for his boy’s to return.

The first stage they perform as eight holds a strange electricity. The fans still chant so loud that they can hear them through their in-ears, even though Chan knows the news has been splashed across social media and that there’s general uproar all round. No one is quite sure what to think but here STAY still are, cheering them on. Chan couldn’t be more grateful.

Everyone dismounts the stage and almost immediately, Chan finds seven sets of arms thrown around them, warmth filling him to the brim, the electricity bringing with it an almost hysterical laughter. It doesn’t feel real but they’re okay. As Jisung winds close to whisper a hushed thank you in his ear it’s even more okay.

None of them can deny that the air feels lighter as eight.

  


  


So Chan has dealt with loss.

He’d dealt with Sana and Younghyun’s questions, and STAY’s mournful comments. He’d read the articles about Woojin’s sudden absence, the curious fans at fansigns, and the hashtags online. He’d moved on and he was proud, so impossibly proud of everything that Stray Kids had become. The eight of them together, them against the world.

But he had been naive, he realises now, to think that was the end of it.

The first he catches of the news isn’t online or from his phone. It isn’t even from the company. It’s BamBam, tentatively knocking on his door late one evening. His own phone is held in his hand, and he’s looking at it wearily, like it’s a live bomb.

“I don’t want you to freak out,” he says cautiously, which means he feels very freaked out immediately but manages to squash it before it shows on the outside. He turns the phone around to show him the headlines—catching _Kim Woojin_ and _sexual harassment_ before his stomach starts churning.

He calls Minho with shaking hands, managing to get the words out without his voice cracking. “Don’t let any of the kids on their phones yet, take them if you have to. I’ll tell you everything when I get home. Just don’t… I don’t want them to see yet.”

Chan isn’t sure what is exploding across the news sites or what those online are saying, but his heart aches for those in pain. No one should ever have to bear the weight of such an experience and not for the first time, he curses out Kim Woojin, wherever the man is now. 

So, like always, Chan turns his attention to what he can do now. To his boys back at home. The one’s he had sworn to protect.

  


  


The grief process isn't as hard the second time round. If he had any remaining dredges of respect left for Kim Woojin they are well and truly turned to ash now. He’d watched Seungmin’s smile grow brighter and brighter everyday that Woojin was gone, watched the jitters fade from Jeongin’s hand and the bruise on Jisung’s cheek turn yellow and fade. 

(It had taken both Chan and Seungmin to keep Changbin from storming out—“I just want to talk to the fucker, I swear”—when he’d found out the origin of the bruise. He’d only stopped struggling when he noticed the tears gathering in Jisung’s eyes again and strode across the room to bundle the smaller boy in his arms. 

Minho had stood off to the side with murder in his gaze.)

Chan had watched them all heal from the marks Woojin had left, and hated the man more each time. So it was simpler the second time round, to dampen the anger and work through work through the situation. 

When he wants up during the night, Chan still checks up on them and still gets tugged into cuddle piles. Sometimes he wakes up shaking, heartbeat too loud in his chest, but when he reaches out blindly there’s a hand twineing through his, a hand smoothing down his back and Felix’s hair tickling his chin from where he tucks himself into Chan’s chest.

They’re there, all keeping each other steady and Chan didn’t think he could love them anymore than he does but everyday he finds something new. He finds new reasons to pile on top of the others and finds new ways to love them. And when they welcome it with open arms, and return it in leaps and bounds, he finds even more reasons to smile.

They are his family. His home. His mum has a sign on their post box back in Australia: _home is where the heart is._ Chan hadn’t known how true that was until he’d felt it for himself, these seven hearts intertwined with his own, curled around each other in a perfect knot.

Through it all, it’s them, the eight of them against the world. Messy and haphazard and brimming so full with love; this is what Chan has sworn to protect.

Felix posts a picture of them—arms through around each other and grinning wide, a picture that Chan can hear—and tags it with #EightIsFate. 

_Fate,_ he muses while reading over Felix’s shoulder. Seungmin is draped over their laps—his feet poking Minho who only grumbles a little—and from in front of them Hyunjin and Jisung yell as they knock each other’s Karts off the map to Jeongin’s victorious whoop. Jisung throws his controller down and flops next to Changbin to demand compensation cuddles—“I didn’t push you off the map!”—and it’s so _simply_ them that Chan can’t stop the smile that catches at his mouth. He wouldn’t want to even if he could.

_Fate, yeah._ That sounds about right.

**Author's Note:**

> Chan protecting his boys will forever be my favourite thing. He cares so deeply for them and I adore it. 
> 
> (Also this, as of now, remains unedited. If you saw any mistakes, no you didn't <3.)


End file.
